


In Flames

by Letha0al



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Riding, Satanic Overtones, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letha0al/pseuds/Letha0al
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was supposed to be some Ghost smut for Halloween. Two months later, everyone has cum and it's finally finished. Whatever, Halloween whenever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Flames

Papa Emeritus III walked in the middle of a procession between the Nameless Ghouls, relaxed but eager to shuck off his heavy robes and mitre. They were passing through the long corridor after another satisfying ritual. The attendees, men and women robed in darkness with numbers that made the stone chapel more that of flesh, were basking in a particularly lazy and sensual aftermath to the Ghouls’ sermon. The remaining incense left burning in the chapel increased in its musky tang as the attendees slowly enjoyed each other’s bodies, and the waft of flesh permeated the unholy complex. Low moans and lazy thrusting echoed in the hall, barely distinguishable from the swish of robes and sharp clack of shoes. 

Papa licked his lips, hearing the tell-tale slapping of flesh and wanton whispers. He would have _loved_ to have stayed behind and revel in their devout and feverish ministrations, his skin flushing in goosebumps as he easily imagined heavy tongues, wandering fingers, and _tight_ , _wet_ warmth. Hell, he knew the Ghouls surrounding him also longed to stay for _servicing_ after the service: their appetites were legendary _long_ before he donned the unholy papal rites. But tonight was, they had warned him, a very particular night. This was not a night to be trifled with. A night that, given his position, was not meant to be spent in the company of others. The entire Ministry had warned him from the first day that _this_ night would be a trial.

‘Twas All Hallows Eve.

There was an undeniable energy in the air that set him on edge. The moon hung large and full in the sky, its pallor yellow with sickness, like a boil ready to burst and paint the black sky, already flecked with so many millions of lights that seemed to stare, unwaveringly, as the procession trekked by the open alcoves. The air was thick and tense, exceedingly heavy with the stench of nature dying without and of flesh dying within. The air felt _real_ , as if hands were pressing his skin, stinging his eyes, pinching his nose, and forcing down his throat like a fist. 

Papa suddenly realized that he was _quite_ aroused. From the earlier sermon, no doubt. There was _no_ way the idea of being held down and choked would arouse him, surely. He was _Papa_. He often had his pick of women from the chapel, and the dominance of the head of this ministry was _never_ doubted. And so he continued on, trying to ignore the rough and heavy pull of the material on his nipples, and the hot confines of the robe that seemed to tighten around his neck as his cock was rather stubbornly held in the folds.

Papa was startled out of his musings by the heavy clack of approaching shoes. Peering ahead, he saw an approaching devotee. The hood on the black robe was drawn up, so he could not see even a murmur of flesh. However, there was a determination in the walk, a suggestive swell in the chest, and an undeniable sensuality in the sway of the hips. She was heading to the chapel, no doubt. As they began to pass each other, Papa could not quite stay his hand. The hall was not so narrow, but Papa still managed to pass near enough to her to make a subtle grab at her ass, really just enough to confirm the soft flesh underneath, before he was out of reach. He turned his head just as he heard the Ghoul behind him give a sharp intake of breath, and he caught the devotee’s turned head in return.

There was only darkness to be seen within the drawn hood, save for the strange and brilliant gleam of the yellow eye he glimpsed before she straightened forward to continue walking.

Papa and the Nameless Ghouls did not pause before reaching their own rooms, but he could not deny the slight anxiety that manifested from glimpsing that single, strange eye. He could feel the stare of the impossibly tall Ghoul behind him, tingling with perhaps just a bit of fear, and perhaps just a bit of danger. It was suddenly much colder in the heavily incensed corridors, and the persistent moans from the chapel rumbled lowly like a singular growl. 

He hadn’t thought that any of the resident worshippers had missed the sermon tonight, so why was that lone woman walking in the hall?

The Ministry had said this would be a night of trial.

Continuously reminded of his shorter stature compared to his (rather legendary) older brother, Papa could not stand tall enough to deny the apprehension he felt once he was finally standing at the doors to his quarters, completely alone and feeling undeniably vulnerable, no matter his boastful nature.

Across from the door, the stars peered though the stones like so many eager eyes, like the strange ones with sickly yellow pallor that followed Papa from the blackness of the abandoned corridors.

___

 

Papa awoke to a rather stringent scent that burned his nose, watered his eyes, and tickled his throat in a heavy manner, like a face-full of the waft of smoky, burning incense, but of a more acidic odor. Tiredly turning and sitting up in the twisted sheets of his bed, Papa peered out into the room, a cold-sweat slowly covering his nude skin. The darkness of the room, he noted, was certainly thicker than normal. Thick like the air catching in his throat when he realized that he couldn’t recall anything after entering his chambers early, much less undressing and retiring for the night.

Some would call it ominous. I would call it a plot-hole.

Still, his eyes endeavored to adjust to the blackness, and his now-focused senses heard light, muffled chanting, and saw a lone robed figure standing at the other side of the room. Somehow, Papa knew it was the lone female from the corridor earlier.

This was his trial.

“ _Are you ready?”_

Although Papa heard her voice easily enough over the murmured chants and his heart pounding in his ears, it took him a moment to understand that she had spoken, and what she had said. He was feeling, perhaps, a bit dizzy. Although the smell in the room wasn’t changing, his interpretation of it couldn’t seem to identifying any one dominant note. It was cold, oiled leather. It was the sweat from flexing bodies. It was the dust burning from a freshly-lit wick. It was incense. Tar and dirt. Musky flowers. Spoiled eggs. A throbbing cunt. The room felt almost stifling hot, but with wisps of chilled air ghosting his skin like so many curious hands. The blackness of the night was alive. 

She was standing still at the other side of the room, but she was almost like a mirage. Papa had the distinct feeling that her current form did not do her real justice.

“Ready for what?” he asked back.

She casually bleated - bleated? - with laughter in a voice that was simultaneously brighter than the peal of a small bell, and darker than a drowning man’s last words from the abyss. “ _Your trial_ ,” she answered, “ _your ceremony. Papa Emeritus III, on this most unhallowed of nights, at the beginning of your calling for the Antichrist, will you embrace depravity? Will you surrender your mind, body, and soul to unadulterated possession of the will of the Unholy One, and revel in all that He is? Will you allow me to bestow you this?_ ”

“So... sex?” More laughter.

“ _Yes. And more. It is a gift for your devotion. I will not break you, but I will push you. With your consent, of course._ ”

Push? ...Well, he was still a bit stiff from earlier. He could definitely handle a push in the right direction. As his eyes adjusted, he could pick out the feminine curves before him, regardless of the robe. The scent in the air, he decided, was mostly the tang of sex.He was more than comfortable with pushing his comfort-zone tonight, given the rather delectable nymph - or rather, imp - before him.

“I consent.”

He blinked, but in a odd sluggish manner, and found that the woman was now crouched over his lap, bereft of her heavy robe. And Satan almighty, she was quite a sight to behold.

Her face resembled a goat as much as the face of a beautiful woman could. Her eyes were large and quite spaced apart, heavy with thick lashes, smudged with cosmetic darkness, and staring down at him with those strange, large rectangular pupils. Her nose was wide, her lips full, and she could probably inflict damage with those cheekbones if the small horns protruding before her hairline did not do so first. Her short black hair was thick, wiry, and twisted in all directions. Her body was lithe, but the thighs squeezing his sides told him she was strong, muscles compact. Her small firm breasts were immediately before him, and he desperately wanted to tease the pinkish peaks with his teeth. He distantly noted that rather than feet, she had small backwards hooves, which he found odd.

With a staccato moan, she used her hooves to push the crisp linen sheets out of the way, and pushed Papa onto his back. Her skin, he realized, was hot: not searing, but just short of burning. He tried to move so that he could taste her breasts, but found one of those torrid palms clasped firmly over his mouth, holding his head securely against the bed as her nails caressed and pricked his cheekbones. With a murmuring warble, her mouth ghosted along his lower sternum, up, her hot breath summoning more sweat from his skin. Her hips were settled atop his, but were only subtly shifting, calling for the notice of his heavy cock, but not calling it into rapt attention. As her mouth worked its way up his chest, she would occasionally nip or lick, and her saliva was that much more sweltering, just that side of painful that would tense his abdomen, surely leaving reddish discoloration in its wake. 

The chanting from unseen sources in the room, he distantly noted, was becoming louder.

With a long, searing lick, she latched her mouth onto his neck, gnawing with unrelenting, scorching contact as she continued still up. Her entire torso pressed firmly down on his, and slowly writhed against his salty, sweaty skin, and his skin tingled from the heat and Papa felt drowned in flesh. She brought forth a knee and settled it between his legs, pushing them apart as her bent knee slid beneath his leg and canted his hips up and slightly to the side, so that her thick thigh was firmly pressed against his groin, pushing his growing erection into the crevice between her searing cunt and firm thigh. Slowly, her hips undulated, and his slick, heavy balls were massaged against the pressed skin as his cock finally received more direct stimulation, jutting up as it fucked against her hip in that delirious heat.

If the air had been heavy in that musky incense before, it was absolutely burdened now as Papa was smothered in the demon’s heat, her hot hand still pressed against his mouth. His hands gripped loosely onto her arms and he slightly turned his head, trying to casually communicate his discomfort. Seamlessly, her hands snatched his wrists in a grating hold and pulled his arms up above his head, and her mouth lazily latched on to his, alternating between thrusting her tongue into his mouth and pricking his lips with her teeth. He only became aware that she had broken the skin on his bottom lip when the coppery taste accompanying her lashing tongue grew noticeable. 

Her nails trailed down from his wrists along his thrumming veins, and with an experimental tug, he found his wrists bound up there with some unrelenting bonds: he couldn’t pull them down, and he could not pull them apart. Her nails continued trailing down, down, summoning shivers and goosebumps from his skin despite the heat, seeming to tease even the sinew beneath his exterior. Her hot tongue pursued a rivulet of saliva down his face and back down to his throat, her teeth briefly catching and tugging on the rise of the larynx there. Slowly, she brought herself up, thrust her pelvis to his face, and leaned back to observe while slowly tugging on his jutting erection.

Her odd pupils were blown as she stared down, her tongue claiming traces of saliva around her mouth, and her chest heaving as he watched her nipples firm and peak in the air. “ _Lick me_.” she ordered, and settled her hips closer to his mouth.

Papa observed the cunt before him with relish. Her lips were swollen with wanting, and her clit seemed to throb in anticipation, and her vagina was positively radiating with moist fever. The scent was spicy, fleshy, and that undeniable scent of a woman, and he eagerly brought his head forth to swipe his hungry tongue against it all. Once, almost quickly, to gain an initial flavor to the delicacy, before licking again with deliberate slowness, the tip of his tongue pressing against the flesh as he worked the fleshy crevice. Her hand slowly massaged his cock in appreciation, her sharp nails occasionally dancing teasingly over the sensitive flesh. As his tongue focused more on treating her crowning bud, the pads of her fingers pressed praisingly over his balls.

He suckled her bundle of nerves there, catching folds of flesh with his pursed lips and offering a slow, rough, undulating massage with his tongue. Ever so often, he’d lightly tease the sensitive flesh with his teeth in between breaths: with her jolting hips, harsh gasps, and firm hand on his cock, she seemed to appreciate it. His mouth soon found that hellishly hot crevice done there, and offered it a teasing fuck with his tongue. It was truly hot, and if Papa were not in such an ambrosial daze, he might have given pause. But in the end, he knew his devotion to this depravity would not lead him wrong. And so he suckled her entrance, working the muscle with his tongue, and savoring the juices he found there, experiencing a thirst for that fiery, slick nectar that he could not recall having experienced before, all while keeping her hips erratically trembling as he nuzzled her bud with his nose.

By now, her hand was servicing him with firm strokes that had him bucking up into her hand, jostling her forward in an awkward tempo as she tried to not squirm too much against the pulsating attention from his mouth. He could practically, and possibly literally, taste it when she was more than ready for more, and her cunt was just about quivering for a baser service. And apparently given up on the hope that his tongue might magically increase in girth and length, she reluctantly drew her heat from his mouth. She slowly, teasingly, pulled her hips down his body, and he felt that heat from her entrance dancing on his skin, sliding along his sweat. As she slowly repositioned herself, Papa tugged on his bonds a bit more, and found that they had either changed or he had never understood their true nature.

Those weren’t bonds holding his wrists: they were _hands_. They felt dainty and soft, but their clasp was iron. Nails were teasing his palms, and danced further along his skin as he became hyperaware of the ministrations above him. And the more he focused, the more hands he noticed. There were hands restraining his and teasing his arms. He was suddenly aware that there were hands also teasing along his feet, although they weren’t truly holding him there... for now. And with the sudden surprise of warm lips kissing his fingertips, he became aware that the bed was changing as well. The uncomfortable folds of linen became smooth skin. There were tongues lavishing his toes, hot mouths moaning and biting along his restrained arms, and it felt like the entire room was starting to undulate. The goat-like woman on him uttered her bleating chortle as she prepared on him, softly holding his heavy erection in place.

With his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he could barely distinguish the loud chanting, like a loud roar of machinery in his head.

She slowly pushed herself down onto his cock, and Papa groaned with a breath he did not know he had been holding, engorging in that pulsating heat. He was slightly pulled out, and then sank in again, slicked with her torrid wetness and his weeping erection. She was tight, like something impenetrable lined with quivering muscle: simultaneously soft and rigid. And the further he sank in, the more the “bedding” beneath him contorted, until his back felt uncomfortably arched above the surging darkness as the demoness pushed him further down, down, down. She alternated between moaning and softly chucking, and her painfully slow ministrations jerked oddly, as if threatening to soon become rough and wild riding - which he was very much looking forward to. Papa tried to push himself up to encourage that crazed treatment, but the hands of darkness all around him came creeping up his skin, clutching muscle and forcing him to move in whatever manner the strange woman orchestrated. 

There were more mouths now, ghosting along his joints and suckling wantonly. There were countless hands kneading his muscles and humid tongues tracing his jawline. There were some particularly instructed hands plaguing his cheat, bringing further flush to his face as he realized the painful pinching on his nipples had him throbbing undeniably harder, and the goat woman just smiled down on him in his helplessness, progressing from languidly swaying to bouncing above him, somehow seeming even tighter as he was sheathed in that unrelenting heat. Her pelvis smacked loudly against his sticky skin as she continued to ride him, stretched achingly around him, from thick base to sensitive tip, and his balls ached with weight.

He wanted to say something - he wasn’t really sure what - but as soon as he determinedly opened his mouth to say whatever he just _had_ to say (probably some deep, guttural moan, given he could barely think of words), he found his lips assaulted with fingers that massaged into his mouth.

Papa felt like he was absolutely _drowning_ in the darkness, consumed by the demon-woman’s unending heat, assailed by sensation on every inch of his skin, drenched in sweat and a myriad of sleek tongues, and caught in the middle of this raging tempest of ecstasy. His balls were drawn tight and his cock, plunging ever faster into that hellish crevice, was achingly thick. He was ready to cum. He _should_ have cum some time ago. The tip of his cock was pressing endlessly into such glorious, unreal heat, and he strained to try to push further, harder. But he felt so hard, so sensitive, that it was if he had past the point of orgasm. He felt like he was plummeting past release, and into some overwhelming state of being just over the edge, and going further. It was senseless, all consuming pleasure, like finally hitting a new high in an addiction, and in the back of his mind, Papa was terrified of what “coming down” would entail.

There was heat below him. Heat above him. Heat pressing _in._ He was choking on fingers and smoky sulfur. The chanting was like the loud roar of an uncontrollable fire, and tongues licked like flames, and he was only able to plunge in hotter, hotter, hotter.

But just as he recognized that ecstasy steeping in unease and the loss of all controll, the woman bleated achingly and brought her mouth back down to his. He thought of the arousing fact that she was tasting her own, hellish slick on his tongue, assuming that the fingers still present in his mouth had not already stolen it away. And in the impossibly spicy, incensed air, that sensation of drowning and burning turned into near-suffocation as the demoness wailed and came, tightening and quivering with unadultered sensation on his cock, impossibly slick and unavailingly sweltering. And just like that, as if he had finally been given permission, Papa came. Hard and messily. With a moan that borderlined on a scream, with quivering thighs and unbelievably taut muscles, and with an intensity that had his skin shivering in the sensations of ice and fire. It was if he were split open, ruptured and rent open, and all of the darkness came rushing in, and behind his eyes there was an icy, searing sensation that was somehow luscious. All he could smell was sweat and sulfur, and he felt undefinably _filled_. 

As he came down from that post-coital high, the “fire” receded into a sense of liveliness inside. The smoky, incense-like odor mellowed into the subtle scent of sex, now more relaxed than suffocating, and the chanting faded away into a barely distinguishable ringing in Papa’s ears. As Papa sunk back down into the plushness beneath him, feeling sated to perfection and truly vile in countless amounts of slick and sweat, the goat-woman settled comfortably on his chest, gazing at him with a lopsided smirk.

“ _You’ve passed._ ”

Papa rolled his aching shoulders now that his hands had been freed, as the sightless hands faded away with lingering, trailing fingers, and the two of them were once more settled on bedding. He was finally able to feel the woman above him: to trail his hands appreciatively down her body, smearing the sweat on her sides. He grinned.

“Nema.”

**Author's Note:**

> "I cum to carry you to the other shore, into eternal darkness, into fire and ice."  
> \-- Papa probably (but really just misspelled Dante)
> 
> To see accompanying sketches to this, check out [This Post](http://cocytusgene.tumblr.com/post/136649366064/oh-boy-so-i-started-working-on-some-written) on my Tumblr. I have plenty more Ghoulish nonsense over there.


End file.
